442 
RURAL HOURS. 
but a sturdy, kindly, jolly old burgher of Amsterdam, half 
Dutchman, half “spook.” The legend-makers of the cloister 
on one hand, the nurses and gossips of Dutch nurseries, black 
and white, on the other, have made strange work of it. It would 
be difficult to persuade the little people now that “ Santa Claus” 
ever had a real existence ; and yet, perhaps, we ought to tell 
them that there was once a saintly man of that name, who did 
many such good deeds as all Christians are commanded to do, 
works of love and mercy. At present they can only fancy San- 
ta Claus as Mr. Moore has seen him, in those pleasant, funny 
verses, which are so highly relished in our nurseries : 
“ Ills oyes, how they twinkled ! His dimples, how merry ! 
His cheeks were like roses — his nose like a cherry ; 
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow. 
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow. 
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, 
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. 
He had a broad face, and a little, round belly. 
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly ; 
Ho was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf ; 
And I laughed, when I saw him, in spite of myself.” 
Moivlay, 25th, Christmas-day . — There is a saying in the vil- 
lage that it always rains here on Christmas ; and, as if to prove it 
true, there is a heavy mist hanging upon the hills this morning, 
with rain falling at intervals in the valley. But even under a 
cloudy sky, Christmas must always be a happy, cheerful day ; tlie 
bright fires, the fresh and fragrant greens, the friendly gifts, and 
words of good-will, the “Merry Christmas” smiles on most faces 
one meets, give a warm glow to tlie day, in spite of a dull sky, 
and make up an humble accompaniment for the exalted associa- 
